I will never know for sure how they came to him, but in my memory it was an afternoon in the fall of 1946, an ex-serviceman, just returned from the war trudged up the walkway, tired after walking door to door in a small town.  The young veteran explained to the 50 year-old man that answered the door that the books covered every country in the world.   He flipped open the book and said “See sir, this in Mt. Pinatubo.  That is exactly how it looks, I was there with Macarthur.”    The man considered the sales pitch of the young veteran, considered the fine volumes, bound in rich blue leather, with scenes embossed on the covers of each.   The color plates that filled the books gave the volumes a rich appearance, full color not yet common in books.    Considering his infant daughter, two teenage sons and his own curiosity he bought the books. 

The eight volume set of “Lands and Peoples” held a place of honor in the bookshelves near the fireplace.   I imagine that he occasionally took one of the books off the shelf, opened it and studied the foreign lands described so vividly in the books.   Even in 1946 the books were anachronistic.   The printing date might have been 1946, but the books had changed little since they were first compiled in the early 1930’s.   The few automobiles pictured were all vintage 1930’s and the figures seemed oblivious to the changes brought by a second world war.  

The man that bought those books was my grandfather, a hardworking man who never left his home country, save for a short vacation or two into Canada.   When I think of what motivated him to buy these books I believe that it was a curiosity and a desire.  That on winter nights he looked at these books and imagined distant lands.   I imagine that he had dreams of visiting places that must have seemed unimaginably distant to the man who grew up herding cattle in the desert and working as a painter at a sugar refinery.

I know the value of these books to him because he entrusted them to me on a spring morning in 1982.   I was 9 years old; he was in his 80’s.  He called me over to his chair and instructed me to go home and come back with my wagon.   When I returned he took me to the bookshelf near the fireplace and told me that his children would soon be fighting over his belongings and that I was to take the books and keep them safe.   He told me that no matter what my mother or my uncles said, the books were mine.  Pulling one of the “Lands and Peoples” volumes from the shelf he told me that these books, and a few other volumes in particular where entrusted to me.

Carefully placing the books in my wagon I took them home.   I studied these books as I am certain he once did.  Reading every page over and over again, memorizing the place names, studying the maps and pictures.  I, like my grandfather became an armchair traveler through the pages of these books.

Years later, as I carried these books off to college with me, I understood that they could be replaced for $50, and that the words and pictures were an anachronistic reminder of a long-ago reality.   For me these books were a gift that I will hold continue to hold in honor.   And as I travel the streets of Calcutta and pass dozens of rickshaws, I think that the only thing that has really changed is that the British officers have all quit India, otherwise it is very similar.

My grandfather, LaMont Harris, died a few years later.  And 21 years after his death, on a cold February morning I am walking up a hill at the base of the Himalayas.  Through the morning mist I see Buddhist Monks and women clutching babies wrapped against the cold.  They appear through the haze, and then just as quickly disappear down a forest trail.   The buildings all seem to have a distant familiarity to me, as if I was here for an afternoon, many years ago as a child.  

Throughout my childhood I was an armchair traveler, roaming the world through Kodachrome tinted plates, black and white pictures and rosy descriptions of distant lands.   I would study the maps, planning the best route from Cairo to Capetown or from Istanbul to Singapore.   Each stop along the route would be carefully studied and investigated.  The lands of the British Empire were of particular interest, the east coast of Africa and great Raj of India, still massive before partition.    

 

Out of the mist ahead of me emerges Enchey Monastery, the headquarters of one of the sects of Tibetan Buddhism, and I realize that I was not given these books so that I would be an armchair traveler like my grandfather, I was given them because I was meant to leave the armchair behind and see the world.   These books served as a travel guide, giving me a happy and peaceful view of the world, and preparing me to travel places he could only dream of.

Without that the gift of those eight blue books I doubt I would have had the interest to be here in India today.  From the hillside I scoop up a bit of soil and place it in a small Altoids tin.   My grandfather couldn’t come to India, so I will take a little bit of it back to him.  

Some day I will pass on the legacy and give these books to one of my grandchildren, but on that day they will have a bookmark.   A small green Buddhist prayer flag will mark the pages covering northern India, and if I am asked what the writing on the flag means, I will say that it is a Buddhist prayer of wanderlust, that whoever holds this flag will want to travel the world and see the wonder that exists everywhere you look.

 

Before I get on to the great time in Gangtok, I should fill in the details on Monday morning in Siliguri.  I am back in the town as I write this, the net connections in Gangtok being unusably slow. 

As I mentioned, earlier, the train ride was interesting and as exciting as I had imagined it would be.

Arriving in Siligiri, I was confronted by a legion of touts, all trying to sell me the lowest price ride to Darjeeling.   I took a cab to the Sikkim Tourism Office to get my permit.  I arrived at 7:45 and the office didn't open until 10:00, so I took a cycle-rickshaw up the street to Net-N-Net, the internet joint I am writing from now.   I checked emails, wrote the post about the geologists on the train and then go some more passport photos.   Back to the Sikkim office at 10, the man ad the desk handed me a form and told me to have a seat.  When I gave him the completed form he said "OK, if my boss comes in then we can get this approved".   Focusing on the "if" in the sentence, I sat down to wait.  About 45 minutes later the boss man arrived, and 20 minutes later, after he had checked the newspapers and chatted about several stories with the man at the desk, he signed my forms.

I then remembered that I was supposed to buy my train ticket to Chennai at the NJP station but had forgotten to.  Instead of going all the way back to NJP, I took a cycle-rickshaw to a junction station nearby, they in turn sent me downtown to a place called "Central Booking", which sounds a lot like where the criminals are taken.  

This is where the "fun" began.  I had told myself before coming to India that I would need "infinite patience" to survive without going crazy.  Because of this, I would occaisionally think to myself "Infinite Patience" when stuck waiting.   At Central Booking there are three lines, one for Enquiry, two more for Purchase.   You are supposed to stand in line and see if your train is available in the Enquiry line, then get in line to purchase it.   I decided to skip the enquiry line and just risk it.   I really wanted to get up to Gangtok before dark, and time was running out.

An hour later, the number of people ahead of me in line had increased from 14 to over 20.  It seems the "queue system" works something like this:  Imagine a set of 20 cm sqauares, lined up approaching the window.  You stand on one square, and move up when you can.  If someone doesn't move fast enough, then a square in front of them is open.   If you are taller, angrier or are chewing something that needs to be spit out, then you can leave the line, go to the cafeteria and come back a couple of hours later and claim your spot.   If you are in the enquiry line, then just take 4 steps to your right, and if nobody shouts at you, then you are next in line to buy your ticket.  

I enter this system and use my 50 pound backpack as a block, to keep the people in front of me from backing up when people come to claim their place in line.  I figure that my only hope is to get close enough to the window to reach out and grab the little opening and hold on.

Half way up the line, I am told that I need a form, and that I have to stay in the Enquiry line to get one.  I have learned enough after an hour to put my pack on and charge the front of the enquiry line.  I wait patiently for the woman behind the window to acknowledge me, but after about 5 minutes I just reach into the little opening, across the woman and grab a form.  It really helps to have long arms.

Back to the purchase line, 3 people have taken my place and insist that I have to go to the end.  The last man in line spent the next 45 minutes with my pack pushing against his legs.

After much pushing, and shouting among the people ahead of me in line, I get to the counter.  The agent says that I have to provide my address in India.   I now live at JA-1, Kolkata, 700-098.  While I made that up, the guy behind me squeezes in and purchases his ticket.  I let that go because 30 minutes earlier, in a bit of frustration, I spun around and accidentaly clobbered the poor fellow in the jaw with my elbow.   Another person tried to purchase his ticket while I found the correct change, but he was met with a loud "BACK OFF", which he seemed to understand.  Throughout this ordeal my "Infinite Patience" was replaced with "SERENITY NOW" and I had 2 hours to very strongly consider a 2 week vacation in Singapore or Australia.

After purchasing the ticket, I went upstairs, pretty mad at having spent 2 hours on something that should have taken 20 minutes.  I needed to get a refund on the ticket that Jyoti had purchased for me.  It was the wrong ticket because I did not want to come back to Kolkata after visiting Orissa.   There were three people in line, pretty manageable, but I wondered what all the men were doing just sitting around this office.  As I got in line, one of them told me that all of the men were in line.   I said "Oh, to hell with this!" a little bit too loud and turned to leave.  Several of the men jumped up and said "India is our country, you are our guest, please go next in line."  I felt really stupid at having lost my cool, but took them up on it, my faith in India restored.

When I got down to the taxi a few minutes later, I noticed that the 50 rupees worth of magazines that I had stuck in the pocket of my pack were missing.  Oh well.

Coming back to the jeep stand, I had to wait 45 more minutes for the jeep to fill up, then off I went to Gangtok.

Along the way I took a couple of pictures:

This girl was waiting at the Sikkim Tourism office for the bus to Gangtok, her mother was nearby.

Later, while waiting for the jeep to fill up, I was playing the magic trick where I pull 1 rupee coins out of this girls ears.  Her mother was begging, but she wasn't, so a loophole in the no money to beggars rule.

Women on the street of Siliguri. After leaving Central Booking, I was walking up the main street looking for a cab.  Even with my pack on, I was the fastest person on the street.  I ended up walking 500+ meters until traffic caught up with me an I hopped on to a cycle-rickshaw.

Life in Siliguri moves at a very relaxed pace.

The jeep, at the first stop.

Highway truck stop, India style.

The jeep was packed, but I had it better than this guy.  I am 90% certain that I passed this same guy on the way down from Gangtok, looks like he never gets a seat inside.

 

I will post more tomorrow but this will serve as a quick update:

I have decided to start a translation of Indian placenames to English equivalents.

   Siliguri = "Stay away if at all possible, this town is where inefficiency was invented"

 

Second, the next time someone in the US says that I am not adventurous because I would rather stay home and plant tomatos and build furniture I will tell them that there is enough adventure for me in piling in a jeep with 10 other people, with a 20 year old driver that knows every swear word in Nepalese, Hindi and English, that the jeep's tires have treads as smooth as a baby's bottom, and then taking that vehicle on a high speed race up a rain soaked, narrow road in the Himalaya's, with giant TATA trucks barelling down the mountain, and with no barrier between the vehicle and the Teesta River 500 feet straight down.  Oh, and it was dark most of the way, and the other 10 people in the jeep seemed to be arguing with the driver the whole way, because he kept turning around and shouting.  Until that can be topped I will enjoy my tomatos and woodworking and fondly remember my crazy drive to Gangtok.  I will also remember that the whole thing only cost me $2.50.

The other adventurous was to relent to the Nepalese woman sittng next to me when she insisted that I try the sweets she had brought along with her.  It tasted like sugar cookie dough and was formed into balls that were soaking in milk and sugar.   Remember that I hate milk, haven't drank a glass of it in 25 years.   So far no vomit, but another Apocalypse Now moment "Captain, try these and you will never have to prove your bravery again."

 

Third, I can't wait for morning.  From what I can see this is an amazing city.

I think I can also post pictures tomorrow.

 

Subrata was kind enough to see me off and I am grateful for that, because now I feel a bit more confident about navigating the train station and boarding process.

When I got seat, #45, it looked like I had gotten a pretty good assignment because there was no top bunk above me and I was right near the back of the car, so I wouldn't be to far from my gear when using the facilities.   After a few minutes, a certain "S. Lala" came and sat down on my bench.  He said "You, seat #45?", I said "Yes, you?", to which he replied "Seat 45".   I have learned to take everything in India with a double-dose of patience, so I replied "The TT will sort it all out".  True enough, the Ticket Taker came and moved Mr. Lala to an empty berth in the car.  No reason to get worked up over.

Across from me were two gentlemen who from the moment they boarded were in a vigorous discussion in Hindi.  I figured they were engineers because they kept using english words like "composites" and would gesture with their hands and say something like "60 meter span".  A couple of minutes after I pulled out my GPS they started talking to me.  Turns out they are geologists with the Indian Geological Survey and are on the way to Bhutan to consult on a dam project.    We spent the next 2 hours in a great conversation about slope stabilisation, the increasing preference of shotcrete over terracing, geography of Bhutan related to dam and resevior construction etc.  They also confirmed my suspicion that using the World Geoditic Survey Datum of 1984 (WGS 84) was not the most accurate datum for India, and that I should be using an India Regional Datum instead.    I think that accounts for some discrepencies in my measurements with the GPS.   I did find it odd and typical of India that the government has 7 different datums.   Seems all North America can get by on 1, but not India.

After a while we made up oru beds and turned off the lights.   I slept pretty well, until the middle of the night when a father took his infant son to the common area immediately on the other side of my berth.  The kid was crying loudly, except when loudly working a latch that turned my berth into an echo chamber.  After a while, one of the geologists told him to keep quiet.  

I woke up just in time to realize that I was only 18 km from Siligure (according to my newly recalibrated GPS).   Got off the train, saw lots of backpackers, got a cab to the Sikkim Tourist Office so I can get my permit.  Along the way the cab got a flat so I had to walk the last 300 meters.   Between the 50 pound backpack and sleeping on hard beds on the train, my back is really starting to feel abused.  I think I need to buy a small roller suitcase to relieve the strain on my back.

Well, it is almost 10 and I need to get back to the Sikkim Tourism Office.   Next post should be from Gangtok.

I check out of the hotel in 20 minutes, and leave for the train station in about 2 hours.   The day today was spent watching the Indian Rail website to see if I would actually have a spot on the train.   In talking about the situation to Subrata this morning, it looked for a time that the plan would be to go to the station early and slip the Ticket Taker some money.  That has proved to be unneccessary, as I am booked on Coach 1, Seat 45.   

With a little more luck my next post will be from Gangtok in the foothills of the Himalayas.

I would be remiss if I didn't write about my day on Friday while the memories are still so strong.  I had not been looking forward to my last day with the vendor team because it was such a good experience.  I wish we could work together on a daily basis like we have over the past two weeks, but that is not what situations permit.

I had a morning meeting with Subrata so the two of us could wrap up any issues and make sure I had a good understanding of any concerns or ideas that he had.

After that I took the team out to lunch.  We headed for a place called "The Pen and Ink".  We had a great meal, sampling all sorts of appetizers and entrees.  

After lunch we had a final training session and talked as a team about our accomplishments and what I would focus on as a result of my meetings with them.

The final meeting was with Bhaskar, Syamil and Subrata.  They were amazing hosts, I am sure that I have every been treated with such courtesy, accomodation and friendliness.   Whatever challenges may lie ahead in my trip, the first two weeks were days of ease and comfort because of their excellent hospitality.  I will miss all of them.

The Team: Around the table from front left - Soumen, Anabik, Anup, Subrata, Prosenjit, Sabyasachi, Samadarsi and Manas.

Outside the restaurant: From left - Anup, Prosenjit, Soumen, Shawn, Anabik, Sabyasachi, Subrata, Manas, Samadarsi.

Abco's food plaza.  They have a restaurant on each level, each with a different theme/cuisine.

 

Finally, one of the people I will miss the most is Ismail.  I quickly learned to trust in his driving and always felt very relaxed in his care.  It was a great way to start off the morning to walk out of the hotel and be greated by his smile and cheerfulness. 

The ceiling inside the hotel is done similar to the great hall, if you look up you can see stars and clouds moving across the ceiling.

 

Earlier in the week I noticed that someone had put up a bunch of red flags around the city.

And also flags of Chandra Bose.

I asked my comrades at the office if it was just early preparation for May Day or some other reason.  The response was "oh, they don't need any reason".  I thought that the flag above would be a wonderful souvenir, but didn't want to risk the gulag.

 

One last picture for Joshua:

This is the cycle-rickshaw that people use, along with taxis, buses and other vehicles, to get around town in.

I was planning on taking some pictures of the work area for the offshore team but decided against it as it was inside the vendors office and I didn't feel like asking permission (although I am certain they would have given it).  Instead, these are some of the views from their office:

 

Not sure what these buildings are used for.

There is a lot of construction going on around Salt Lake City.

These buildings are the home of a jewelry and gemstone company so they made their building in the shape of a gemstone.

The yellow buildings might be single family homes, if they are then they are the first of their kind that I have seen here.  There are many other single family homes that I have seen, but those were all made by the family out of what materials they could come by.

11:00 AM on a Saturday morning, nothing to do (not really), so decide to go hang at the mall.

Decide it is time for a haircut, 150 rupee.  Stop by Pizza Hut for lunch, order 6" Personal Pan Pepperoni Pizza and Pepsi.  Close my eyes as I take the first bite, and for one moment I am back home on the couch watching Elf with the kids, it was just that much like the American version.  Total cost 255 rupee, and since when did lunch cost more than a haircut?

Hang out at the mall, decide I need some more clothes, order 2 pair of 100% wool trousers, tailored to fit.  Total cost 2093 Rupee.  The kind staff at the store also gave me a box and their only roll of packing tape.  How nice was that?

Walk around the mall making silly faces at the kids who stare at me, order a box of chocolates, total cost 130 rupee, ignore the puzzled look of the clerk when I say "well, this is what life is like".  Consider going into the chocolate import business.

Stop by the chemist, explain the purpose of Imodium to the nice woman at the counter, learn that after all these years it is pronounced "EYE-mod ee um" not "e mode EEE um".  Buy their entire stock of 10 pills, total cost 12.5 rupee, get a pile of coins that add up to less than a penny in value, consider going into the Imodium import business.  Haven't had a need for these pills, but good to know there are there, just in case....

India is a land of contradictions.  This mall could easily fit right in anywhere in the US, same brands, same teenagers, similar stores etc all just down the street from a guy selling pastries and rice out of a wooden cart on the side of the road.

Saturday morning 11:15 AM
Walk outside the hotel gates to the Taxi Cab Union queue on Market street.   Ask union boss man for taxi to City Centre Mall.  Fixed price 50 rupees.

Saturday afternoon 2:15 PM
Flag down cab at mall, return to hotel.  Same distance, 160 rupees based on rate card.

Saturday afternoon 3:00 PM
Ask hotel bellman for his estimate on a cab to downtown Kolkata, he doesn't know but ends up explaining the rate card to me (which I had already figured out) and calls a cab.  Shows me the drivers rate card (it was white) and off we go.   With clear instructions to go to Park street.  Along the way, while at a traffic jam, cabbie buys a new rate card from a street vendor, suddenly doesn't understand "Rate Card" when I ask to see it.   Cabbie takes me to Shakespeare Sarani, at which time I start giving the directions.   When cabbie finally pulls over, he pulls out his new yellow rate card and says "320 rupees", at which time I restrain myself from teaching cabbie the english translation of "haramjada" or "naraka sana".

Saturday afternoon 5:05 PM
Hail a cab on Park Street, destination Hyatt Hotel.   Rate:  80 Rupees, I pay 140, honesty and good service should be rewarded.  Decide that the older the cabbie, the more I like them.

Saturday afternoon 5:15 PM
Go back to the Taxi Cab Union queue, ask for cab, get directed to the first one on line and who would it be, none other than the haramjada from 2 hours earlier.   He starts shouting, I start shouting, I exit cab, climb in next one.  50 rupees, fixed cost, no problems.  What are the odds, that in a city of 2 million little yellow taxi's that I would get in the same one twice in the same day.

Saturday evening 6:15 PM
City Centre Mall.  With help of kind security guard, flag down taxi.  Hop in taxi, taxi goes about 100 meters, slows down and some guy climbs in the front seat.  I get out of taxi awfully quick and start walking back to mall.  Cabbie pops into reverse, friend hops out and says "Ok, Ok, Ok, please sir".  Throw my best skunk-eye to both of them, get back in and go to hotel.  On way to hotel I realize that I have 60 rupees in small bills, otherwise nothing smaller than 500, and I know that as soon as he knows that he will only have 10 rupees in change.   At hotel, hand him all 60 and hop out of cab with a quick "OK" that did not have much of a question to the tone.  He says "namaste", no hard feelings, so here I am.

Saturday evening 6:50 PM
Do I wish I had arranged for Ismail to drive me around?  Not really.  It was an exciting day.

Every now and then I get these cravings for certain things not available here:

Pot Roast
Swedish Fish (I had a bag but forgot to pack them)
Cherry Chocolates
Miracle Mile Pastrami
Strawberry Starburst
Taco Salad

The desire washes over me and then is gone in an instant, almost more of a distant memory brought back by impulse.  It seems silly when I think about it, but it seems like I have been away for a long time.  In reality, it was 2 weeks ago right now that I was doing the last final packing and preparations. 

I have a similarly odd list of things that I need to find on Saturday:

A cardboard box, 12 x 12 x 24 in good enough condition to survive a 10,000 UPS journey
A smaller box, similar condition
4 tins of Rosogollah from K.C. Das & Co.
1 Cricket Bat
1 2-meter long chain, thin links, about 400 lb test with a long loop (enough to secure 3 links) padlock.
The location of the UPS drop off center (Royd Street)
The location of a barber (oh, I have found many but am too shy to have my hair cut out on the sidewalk or the side of the road).
A small jar of Excedrin (or no-doze, the sought after ingredient is the same).  For this I get to go to a "Chemist"
A Hindi phrasebook
A copy of the Short Stories of Satyajit Ray

I am looking forward to roaming all over Kolkata on my quests.

Busy day tomorrow and I should have been asleep hours ago, but that is another Seinfeld moment:

   Jerry:  You kept making the stops?

   Kramer: Well, they kept ringing the bell....

I got to turn off email if I hope to sleep during the week.

My usually peaceful meal at the restaurant was disturbed tonight by a bunch of Americans.    At the table by the window were 4 businessmen loudly talking about golf and football and drinking beer.  Next to them was a woman who couldn't understand the waiter, and next to me were two men.  These two men have been around since Sunday.  One looks like a New York psychiatrist, the other an original California hippie.   I haven't been brave enough to act on my urge to go up to them say "Ok, what's the story here???".  Since Sunday they have been in the cafe every single time I have been there, and I have no consistency to my schedule.  Earlier one of them was reading an older copy of the Lonely Planet guide.   So many of the westerners here are obviously on business trips that these two really stick out as odd exceptions. 

Another thing about the hotel restaurant.

Come in on Sunday wearing jeans, rugby shirt and sandals.  Find your own table, help yourself to the buffet.

Come in on Tuesday wearing suit coat, shirt, tie etc.  Have three people help you to your table, have the manager ask to take your jacket for you and get offered a complimentary chicken pizza.

Both times I had to wait 10 minutes and ask twice for the check.

 

Woke up this morning and realized I didn't post this last night, but had another Seinfeld moment today to include.  Overnight I woke up and thought of something that seemed really funny at the time, and maybe not so funny now:

   Q:      How can you make Calcutta quieter?

   A:      Put a "Honk if you like George Bush" sticker on the back of each cab....

It seems the karma works like this:  Seinfeld moment = good karma, Apocalypse Now moment = bad karma.   Sometime I will post more on this, because I have a fair quantity of both.

 

I have gotten word back that the villagers do not drink the water in the adjacent ponds.  They have wells.   I didn't think they drank the pond water, but didn't know about the wells.   Thanks to SB for the clarification.

Some have pointed out that by posting events in chronological order that they come up in reverse order, so if you want to read the three parts of the Shantiniketan trip in order then you need to scroll down to and read the third post below this one, then the second then the one beneath this one.  Or you can use the following links:

   The Road to Shantiniketan
   Shantiniketan
   The way home, Belur Math

In the future I will put an entire episode in a single post.

Hidden Identities

You may be wondering why I refer to my company as "my company" and the people I am visiting as "the vendor".   The reason is not that I own the company, it is that the company I work for is, you could say, a fairly large company and they have spent a lot of effort setting up Corporate Communications and Marketing teams that are designed to promote the image of the company.  Since I am in India on behalf of that company (and they have paid most of the cost of my trip), I am acting on their behalf.  Nobody at my company asked me to write this blog, and I am not running the words and pictures through our Corporate Communications Department for review.  Because of that, they remain anonymous.  If you know me you know who I work for, if you don't, does it really matter?  I am not a spy or anything that merits this anonymity other than the fact that I respect the right of my company to craft their public image without my assistance.

The other path is to try to follow the rules, and hope that I am accurately presenting the truth in a way that doesn't accidentally detract from my company's image. 

Saturday morning I had plenty of stomach pains and decided that I needed a break from food for a couple of days.  When we first got to the motel, Subrata and Ismail ordered food.  I didn't but broke out the first of my Cliff Bars.  The Cliff bars are pretty much like the Lamas Bread in Lord of the Rings, one bar will make is so that you are not hungry for one full day.  It won't fill you up either, it just makes you not think about eating.  

Just have to throw in a Tolkein quote: 

      "Lamas bread... one bite is enough to feed a man for a day, how much did you have?"

      "Four"

We decided that we had seen all that Shantiniketan had to offer, so I suggested that we leave early and go to Belur Math on the way back.

At about 5:30 I told Subrata and Ismail goodnight and headed for my room.  Having been staying at the Hyatt, which probably has a strong claim on being the nicest hotel in India, I had to make a mental adjustment for me new room.  It was only 8 years old, but looked and felt 20 years old.  The beds were a plywood platform with a 2 inch thick foam mattress.  The bathroom had a "geyser" hot water heater, which is an electric heater on the wall above the tub.  You turn it on and about 15-20 minutes later you have warm water.

In planning my trip I knew that I would be staying at hotels like this, and probably not as nice as this.  As I stood there, thinking back to a certain motel in Kingman, AZ that Amy and I stayed in (and point out every time we drive by it), I realized that this is what I came to India to experience, the authentic experience of an Indian hotel.   I decided that I had stayed at worse (in Kingman) and stacked up the pillows to get a little bit of comfort on the bed.  About half an hour later I was sound asleep.   The 80+ hours of work the week before had finally caught up with me.  I slept for about 12 hours, it was very relaxing to be away from my computer.

The next morning I figured out the geyser, got ready and met Subrata and Ismail for the drive back.

Since we had taken the road less traveled to get here, we didn't see any point in taking it back.   We headed down National Highway 2 and made good time, getting back to Kolkata in about 3 hours.

Along the way we passed through gorgeous semi-tropical forests and open grasslands that I imagine to be what India looked like a 1000 years ago.

We arrived at Belur Math and walked around the site.  The grounds were meticulously cared for and there was a very diligent and orderly staff wandering the grounds to make sure it stayed that way.  Subrata told me that the followers are very diligent, organized and efficient.  Confirms what I have observed from the followers I know.

We took our shoes off and went into the main temple.  Vivekananda preached that all religions have value and in the design of this temple he incorporated many symbols and elements from many different religions.  Since I had read "The Da Vinci Code", I was able to pick out some of the Christian motifs.

Just as at Shantiniketan, we had arrived just before closing, so weren't able to see many of the sites, but it was another interesting addition to our journey.

Back to the Hyatt and the laptop.   Time to get ready for another busy week.  More importantly, I need to figure out my itinerary or I will be in for a rough vacation.  Bhaskar offered to have the vendors admin assitants help in securing reservations, but I need to figure out what I want them to book.

 

After a quick break at the motel we headed to Shantiniketan.  This place is the location of a school and university where the emphasis is on topics concerning people's relationship with nature and the earth.  Students study art and other humanities related topics.   The school takes great pride in its founder, Rabindragath Tagore, who is one of India's most famous writers.   We arrived fairly late in the day, as things were closing.  We hired a cycle rickshaw driver who charged us 50 rupee (yes, I know that puts the dancing monkey experience into perspective) to drive us tour of the campus.  

Statues created by the school's students.

A buddha statue.

The campus seemed pleasant and open.  The thing I wondered about was; if the focus was on man and nature, why not keep the grounds cleaner?

The grounds also had schools for younger childeren.

This atrium is where Tagore would frequently come to meditate.

 

At the end of the tour we went into the museum.  The displays were very descriptive and informative about the life of Tagore.  He had been a well-known Bengali poet and writer for years before the west knew of him.  He had been very insistent on writing in Bengali as opposed to English, but on a whim decided to translate some of his work into English.  When visiting England a friend, Rothenstein, persuaded him to share the translation.  Rothenstein was friends with W.B. Yeats, Ezra Pound and other poets who were amazed at the poetry.  They worked to get the poetry published and Tagore was instantly famous in the west.

He returned to India, started the school and worked on Indian Independence.  

Another thing that I wondered was what Tagore would say about the "Tagore worship" that was the theme to much of the museum and grounds.  The museum had "The hair brush that Tagore used" and other artifacts from his life.   His car was still parked in the garage, from the 1920's.

As we were leaving the museum a bunch of school boys, about 10-14 years old were watching me closely.  The bravest came up and stuck his hand out.  I shook it and then everyone of them wanted to shake my hand and tell me their name.  The last one came up and said "I'm Shawn", which is what I had said to each of them.  We all laughed and I used this as my cue to catch up to Subrata.  I asked him for the Bengali word for "comedian" so I would be prepared next time, but there is apparently no such word in Bengali.

Overall, the place lived up to its name, Shantiniketan means "Peaceful Abode".

Having seen all we were permitted to see, and not wanting to have to navigate unfamiliar streets at night, we headed back to the motel.  Our total stay there lasted about

I am not ungrateful for the opportunity to go and see Shantiniketan, it was interesting and the drive was a great opportunity to see the countryside.

 

Sometimes it's a little better to travel than to arrive.
Robert M. Pirsig - Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

To paraphrase another Pirsig quote:  It is the journey, not the destination that is most important.

We left the hotel right on time at 9:00 AM, headed down the EM bypass and caught a flyover (a elevated street) that cut across central Kolkata, just south of the Maidan and Victoria Memorial.

We then crossed the famous Howrah Bridge.

This picture doesn't due the fact justice, but the bridge is one of the busiest bridges in the world.

Once across the river and through the industrial suburbs on the other side we headed out into the countryside on National Highway 1, a part of a new road network connecting different parts of India, kind of a freeway network, but with a distinctly Indian flavor.

This was a common site along the way, either new buildings being built, heavily used buildings or abandoned buildings, all with the same weary complexion.

Along the highway were hundreds of trucks.  The finished parts of the highway had lines, but those are just suggestions.  Note how the taxi in the picture is straddlying the center line.  Essentially you take the position that gives you the most reaction time or options.  A moment later, Ismail honked the horn, the taxi moved over about a meter and we passed.

Along the highway were little workshops selling tires, truck parts, bicycle parts and food, among just about anything else. 

A closeup of the shop above.

There seems to be a permanent haze of pollution, contributed greatly to by the many factories dotting the landscape.   This was one of the larger ones.  We also passed about a dozen brick kilns and smaller factories.

Another view of the road.   The TATA and Ashok Leyland trucks/lorries looked in some cases to be at least 50 years old.  All of them were painted up with decorative motifs, religious looking scenes and messages.

The backs of most of them instruct you to blow your horn if you want to pass.   Since the truck was so much bigger than we were, the driver would often motion with his hand out the window when it was safe to pass.  The "Good Luck" message on his mud flaps is appropriately suggestive of a need for luck.

Ismail is an absolutely wonderful driver and I have learned to not get in any way concerned with his judgement, but the judgement of some other drivers in passing us or passing as they approached us made for an interesting drive.

As I said above, the highway is still under construction.   With so many people in India employed in various jobs, they must have not seen the need for highway flagmen or people to control traffic.   It seems obvious: if you see a truck blocking the highway so he can dump some dirt, then you will just have to wait.  No need for a guy holding a sign to tell me the obvious.   I am starting to understand the extent that liability lawsuits have shaped American life.

After a while the highway was blocked at a railway crossing (the did see the value in having a manned rail crossing station, with large arms that blocked the traffic).   The rusty box in the back of this truck was filled with water.  The two men on the right were vigourously pushing a large pot up and down in the water.  In the box were a bunch of little fish, and the motion of their legwork kept the water aerated.   As we were waiting for the train, they threw out a dead fish.

Also at this point there were a bunch of vendors selling food, probably making most of their income when the highway was closed for the train.   They will be out of luck when the overpass being built just to the left is completed.

A few kilometers later we entered Bardahman.   The scene above looks a lot like Kolkata, but Kolkata is a lot busier.  Again, Ismail would have to work the horn to squeeze by the cycle-rickshaw, bicycle, motorcycle and pedestrian traffic.

At the other side of this town we asked for directions and got some advice that we would later learn proves that the straightest line between two points is not the shortest route, but that the road less travelled is bumpier.

Outside Kolkata, the crops were mostly potato, but changed to rice.

 

The people out in the country lived in small villages of mud or grass walled buildings. 

The building were topped by thatch, tin or tarps.   Each village had a small pond nearby that was used for washing and bathing, and perhaps drinking (I am not sure, I only say washing and bathing).

There were tractors occaisionally working the fields, but it almost seems as if the oxen/cattle that were more common might almost be more effective.  The tractors had steel paddlewheels in addition to their tires and had to keep moving at a pretty good speed to keep from getting stuck.

After Bardharmon the road became narrower and more crowded with agricultural traffic.  This traffic was often tractors pulling carts at full speed, but also ox-carts, cycle-rickshaws with rice stalks stacked over 10 feet high, or with what looked like 500 pounds of steel bars 20 feet long, sticking way out in front of the peddler.

The above scene could almost have been taken in northern Utah where I grew up, but I don't recall seeing "Emergency Milk Duty" trucks, just "Cache Valley Milkmen's Coop".

It takes a certain kind of fearlessness or insanity to ride on top of the bus, but this was a common site.

The further out of Kolkata we go the narrower the road became.   In some places it was a strip of asphalt barely wide enough for one vehicle.  The steady stream of oncoming vehicles meant that someone had to volunteer to drive on the shoulder.  At one point the pavement disappeared completely, with a bit of a drop-off, to which Ismail exclaimed "Oi, aye, aye", which from his tone seemed to be translated to "This is not what I signed up for".

Along the roadways, the public philosophy seems to be that the road is a hard, flat surface built for public use.  That we were using it to go somewhere was only one possible use.   The others I saw were: 1- Fixing trucks (many were broke down or with flat tires in the middle of the highway and street).  2- As a pedestrian walkway; 3- As a great place to herd cattle; 4- As a place to wash your motorcycle; 5- as a place to have drivers help thresh your rice; 6- as a place to dry your rice.

In this picture the brown stuff on the road behind the cyclist is rice.  All along the road women were smoothing rice ourt to dry.  What looks like weeds or hay on the road are rice stalks that they would throw out, I am guessing to have traffic run over it and separate the rice from the chaff. 

 

After that very fascinating drive we arrived at our motel.  It was a peaceful place with a big central garden/courtyard. 

The center garden was lined with a walkway leading to each of the rooms. 

The garden had several strange statues or mythical animals.

Subrata and I at the motel.   He and Ismail grabbed a bite to eat and then we headed for Shantiniketan.